


Matagot

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (kinda), Case Fic, Gen, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: At 10, Sam is far sneakier than Dean can cope with.





	Matagot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wincest Writing Challenge July 2017: Superstitions  
> Prompt: Black cat

**Black cat**

Sammy keeps sneaking out into the back yard. His over-the-top surreptitious actions set immediate alarm bells ringing in Dean’s head, but he won’t tell his big brother what he’s up to. He comes back in, traipsing mud, after half an hour or so out of Dean’s sight around the corner behind the tree, and Dean has no idea why his little brother would want to spend so much time outside in the freezing cold and frequent rain they’re currently experiencing.

Dean can’t bear it. At 14, his mind is a whirl of angry, confused thoughts he can’t quite pin down, making his emotions spiral out of control at a moment’s notice. But throughout all the chaos, one thought always shines through: Sammy.

Look after Sammy.

Make sure Sammy is warm and dry.

Make sure Sammy gets enough food, and gets food he likes.

Make sure Sammy is healthy and well. 

Make sure Sammy is safe.

Know what Sammy is doing all the time

_My Sammy._

He’s vaguely aware that it’s borderline unhealthy and that his investment in his little brother doesn’t reflect the way his peers feel about their siblings; but above all that is a huge big pile of _who gives a shit._ Sammy is his little brother, his to look after. Sammy is his.

And he doesn’t know what Sammy is doing.

***

Days pass, the weather gets worse and Dean still can’t work out what Sammy is up to. He tries sneaking out behind Sammy, watching behind him as his brother’s little feet pad across their scrawny yard. But Sammy is being well trained by their Dad and more often than not he realises that Dean’s behind him; and he thinks Dean has come out to play with him and starts up a game. Dean is powerless in the face of Sammy’s enthusiasm and inevitably, his attempt to find out what Sammy is up to is shelved. Sammy’s really into wizards at the moment, wants to pretend that he and Dean are rival wizards forced to battle together to save the earth, and who is Dean to say no to that? 

Other times, Dean sneaks out successfully, but can only see Sammy pottering at the very end of their yard, no clue as to the secret that brings him out into the driving rain so frequently. He disappears occasionally behind the dilapidated old shed, missing half its roof and still only barely more habitable than the house Dad’s found for them; but the space there is tiny and Dean can’t follow without being seen. Dean’s own trips to the back of the shed, when Sammy’s nose is irretrievably buried in whatever book has caught his attention this week, are fruitless; there is nothing to see but old weeds and the vague smell of urine.

Safe to say, by the end of the second week that Dad has dumped them in this no-frills town, Dean is going stir-crazy.

***

Dad had refused to take Dean on this hunt, or even let him in on what he was seeking. It maddens Dean, that his Dad still didn’t trust him; didn’t see him as an adult or someone who could help. At his darkest times, he thinks that his Dad only found him useful as a nursemaid, or a babysitter, someone who could keep Sammy out of trouble while Dad did the real work of saving things. On those nights, Dean struggles; sitting quiet and pensive in a corner of the room while Sammy gets on with his evening; ignoring his brother’s requests to play games or watch movies together. 

Other times, the distinction is clearer. Sam’s eyes shine up at him; his brother curled safe against his side while Dean helps with Sammy’s homework, encouraging his little brother through maths and science tasks that he himself struggles with. It’s not that Dad doesn’t trust Dean with hunting; it’s that Dad trusts Dean with Sammy, and that’s the biggest honour he could bestow, because Sammy is the most important thing in the world. 

Those nights, Dean sleeps easier, safe in the knowledge that he is useful, that he has a purpose. Those nights he beams at his brother, teases him until Sam is red in the face and then pulls him in for rough hugs, disguised as play fighting. Those nights, Sam climbs into his bed in the darkest hours, explicitly disobeying orders; and those nights, Dean doesn’t have the heart to kick him out. 

But still, even on those incandescent nights, when the Winchester boys are so in step with each other, Sammy still doesn’t talk about why he keeps sneaking out.

***

They’re deep into the third week, and even deeper into the first snowfall of the season, when Dean finally works out what Sammy is up to. It’s the snow that tells him, pristine whiteness leaving trails of Sam’s secret across the yard. 

Sam’s footprints, tiny still compared to the imprints of Dean’s feet, are soon matched by even smaller tracks dancing around them behind the shed. A cat, Dean realises easily, the familiar shape reassuring him. Sammy has been visiting a cat. 

Sammy’s always, always fallen in love with every dog they’ve ever seen, begging their Dad for a puppy and insisting it would be safe to take one on the road. But that doesn’t mean he loves dogs to the exclusion of all else, and Dean can easily imagine Sammy’s warm little heart bleeding over a poor abandoned kitty. No doubt his brother has been sneaking out to feed his new friend, sneaking the cat treats and bits of Sam’s dinner even when the Winchester boys were starting to feel the protracted absence of their father having an effect on their diet. 

Something settles in his heart to know that he’s discovered Sam’s secrets; that everything is back to normal and there’s no part of Sammy he doesn’t know and understand. He knows that feeling is addictive and dangerous; that a time will soon come when Sammy doesn’t want to share everything, but he can’t help feeling a deep satisfaction anyway.

***

When Sam slips out that evening, Dean follows, no longer concerned with keeping himself hidden. He watches Sam skip carefree across the snow, and he thinks that had he still been trying to be sneaky, this might ironically have been the night he succeeded. Sammy doesn’t seen to have a care in the world as he rounds the corner of the shed. 

So it’s safe to say that Dean is somewhat taken aback by what he sees.

While it’s clearly a cat, it’s the biggest damn cat Dean’s ever come across. Black fur glistens across a body that is easily four times the size of a domestic cat, though in every other feature it resembles a common cat, rather than a bobcat or a mountain lion. Its yellow eyes glint towards Sammy, fixed on where Sam’s got one hand secure in his pocket.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty.” Dean is astonished to hear Sammy crooning gently at the giant creature. As his brother crouches down in the snow, the cat is as high as Sam’s shoulder, and Dean shudders with fear as it stalks towards his little brother. 

Sam doesn’t seem bothered though, just continues to mumble nonsense. “Here, kitty, got a nice treat for you today,” Sam says, oh so softly. “Just for you, something you’ll really, really like. Dean made a great dinner today, I saved you some kitty!”

Dean is suddenly furious that the dinner he’d worked hard over, had planned so carefully with the little money they have left, is feeding this monster of a cat rather than the scrawny little brother it was intended for. But it’s so typical of Sammy to give up his food to an animal, even a monster one.

The fury abates as soon as it had come, as Dean focuses on the much bigger problem of what the fuck the giant monster cat actually was. He curses internally; of course Sammy hasn’t made friends with a normal cat. 

Abandoning any attempt at stealth, he says, “What the hell is that, Sammy?”

Sam visibly jumps, turning around to face Dean quickly. The cat hisses violently, tail standing upright and eyes changing to an even deeper yellow. It stands behind Sam, looking ready to attack if needed to protect the little boy. 

“Dean!” Sam exclaims. “Look, this is my new friend. His name is Aslan. I met him a few days ago but I’m worried he doesn’t eat very much so I saved him some food.”

Sam looks worried about Dean’s reaction, because Dean is definitely no fan of cats. 

“Sammy,” Dean replies slowly. “I really don’t think that cat is going short on food. Can you not see how big it is?” The cat hisses at him again, almost as if it understands.

“Aslan needs food, Dean. It’s so cold and he doesn’t have a family.” Sam’s big eyes are welling up a little now, and Dean forces himself to ignore it.

“I think Aslan,” Dean clenches his teeth against giving the monster cat a name, “Is just fine. Give him what you’ve got now and we’ll go inside.” All Dean wants right now is to get his precious little brother away from the cat; he can think about the implications later. 

“But I wanted to play with Aslan, De, can’t we stay and play for a while?” 

Dean hardens his heart against the nickname Sammy hardly ever uses any more. “Not today, Sammy. Time to go inside.” He infuses his voice with all the parental authority he’s picked up from their dad over the years, hoping it will be enough to get his little brother away. Luckily it works; Sam pouts but follows Dean back to the house after he hands over a crumbled handful of dry macaroni and cheese to the cat, and Dean breathes a little easier. 

He finds a film for them to watch on the clapped-out tv and settles Sammy against his side, and then begins to think. 

***

Two hours later, Dean has taken in none of the film and is still entirely baffled. Aslan clearly was not a normal cat; but on the other hand, he didn’t seem to be malevolent, at least not towards Sammy. Dean is more than willing to discount the cat’s negative reaction to himself; the feeling had been more than mutual. 

He shifts awkwardly on the sofa, growing bones aching. Nothing to be done about it tonight, he thinks, tonight he needs to make dinner and make sure Sam’s homework is done and get everything ready for school tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, if their Dad calls, he can ask for some advice. If not, he can maybe call Uncle Bobby, see if he has any thoughts. 

***

The next morning brings no enlightenment, and no word from Dad. Dean dispatches Sammy to school when the big yellow bus pauses outside their house, fussing over his little brother to make sure he has hat, gloves and scarf and is wrapped up as warm as can be. He’s not bothered about going to school on time himself; it’s not like he’ll be staying in school much longer and this is far more important. 

A quick call to Uncle Bobby brings no easy answers, but the promise of a research update later that evening. 

“I don’t think it can be that evil if Sam’s been playing with it for the last couple of weeks,” Bobby reassures him gruffly, and Dean has to settle for that. “Its definitely odd and I’ll look into it, but don’t worry too much, Dean. Animals love Sammy.”

Dean tries his very hardest to believe that as he trudges through the snow to school.

***

Sam’s return from classes that afternoon starts a long, snippy row between them. Sam wants to go outside and make sure Aslan is fed and well, and then ideally play with his new friend all evening. Dean thinks that’s going to happen over his dead body. 

“Dean!” Sam whines. “Aslan needs food. It’s cold, what if he starves. He needs me to bring him food!”

“Aslan is the biggest damn cat I’ve ever seen, Sammy. Aslan is not going hungry, believe me.”

“How do you know? You can’t know that.” Dean knows his little brother and has come up against his need for actual proof before, so he’s aware this is a fight he’s not going to win.

“Ok, fine,” he says sharply. “We can put some food out for Aslan, but you’re not staying out there to wait for him and you’re certainly not going to play with him.”

Sam’s lip trembles. “But he’s my friend, and he knows I come to play with him every evening, Dean. He’ll be so sad if I’m not there.”

Dean sets his teeth.

“It’s not a normal cat, Sammy. I don’t know what it is. But you can’t play with something that might be dangerous.”

“Aslan’s not dangerous!” Sam looks utterly indignant, chubby little cheeks flushing bright red with anger. “I’ve been playing with him for ages. He just wants to be friends.” 

“No, Sammy.”

“Dean,” Sam begins again, and the argument continues. Dean takes Sammy out to put the food out, biting his tongue against the fact that the Winchester boys need the tin of tuna far more than the monster cat does. He makes Sam spaghettios for dinner, and after looking through the money left in the cookie tin, resigns himself to another night of cereal with a side of grumpy little brother.

Their update from Uncle Bobby comes as promised, but he has no news for them. “Haven’t found anything yet, Dean,” Bobby says gruffly. “Looked through my basic bestiaries. I’ll have to start on the advanced collection. Are you absolutely, one hundred per cent sure that it can’t just be a big cat?”

“Bobby, the thing was four times the size of a cat. It was almost as big as Sammy. Believe me, it was not a cat.” Dean’s certainly must come through in his voice, because Bobby sighs. 

“Ok Dean, I’ll be in touch again tomorrow. Be careful, and try to keep Sam away from it.” Bobby’s chuckle suggests that he knows what a monumental task that might prove to be.

Although he often finds it annoying when he wants some privacy, tonight he’s glad that the rental they’re in has two twin beds side by side. Dean’s taken the one nearest the door, of course, and given that the window’s been jammed since the snow started, Sam’s unlikely to be able to escape that way. He settles down to sleep content in the knowledge that they should have a quiet night. 

*** 

A loud crash startles Dean awake, propelling him into full fight mode. He grabs at the gun under his pillow, jumping out of the bed and crouching under the window. 

Sam sits up more slowly, rubbing at sleepy eyes. His little pyjamas have gotten all twisted in the night, and Dean ruthlessly suppresses the urge to straighten them. More important things are at hand. He gestures to Sammy to stay quiet, and Sam’s eyes widen with alarm. 

Dean listens intently for further noise, wanting to know if he’d just heard a random thump - snow falling off a tree, perhaps - or if there was actually cause for concern. He can clearly hear someone moving about in the yard, and his gut tightens. 

“Shush,” he gestures again at Sam, and makes him get down off the bed. “Under,” he whispers, directing his little brother under the bed, the nearest available safety he can think of at short notice. 

Straightening, he peers out of the window, but there’s nothing to be seen. Steeling himself, he cocks the gun, slips his feet into the shoes that are always left at the end of the bed and moves out into the living room, scanning carefully as he’s been taught. 

It’s immediately obvious that there’s no one in the house; whatever the danger is, it’s in the yard. Dean moves towards the back door and presses his face to the adjacent window. The garden is softly lit in the moonlight, but Dean still can’t see anything.

As quietly as he can, he opens the back door, thankful that he’d taken the time to oil the squeak earlier in the week. The pristine fall of new snow is marred by footprints, and Dean knows they aren’t either his or Sammy’s; too much snow has fallen and besides, they’re too big. Gun raised, he steps out across the snow, placing his feet into the footprints as soon as possible to hide his tracks. He quickly checks back to make sure he can’t see Sammy, and then he sets off. 

The tracks lead him to the old shed, and Dean’s heart plummets. This can only be linked to the monster cat. He speeds up when he hears sounds of a struggle, rounding the corner quickly. 

He’s absolutely astonished to see his father behind the shed, locked in a fight with an equally tall man. The monster cat stands just to one side, teeth bared and hackles raised, watching the two men intently.

“Dad!” Dean yells, and John looks back. Dean curses as that gives his father’s assailant the opportunity to land a punch on John’s face that sends him reeling backwards, but he keeps his head and aims. 

The shot hits the man in the knee - exactly where Dean wanted it. His father might be in danger but he has no idea if this man deserves to die. 

The man crumples, hitting the floor with a thud and John is on him in seconds; grabbing up a rock, he delivers a swift blow that knocks the man out cold. Dean sighs, relieved, eyes scanning his father for injury. 

He barely registers when the cat hits him full force in the chest, claws digging into his skin sparking bright spots of pain behind his eyes. He tumbles over, landing flat on his back with the cat’s full weight on top of him. He yells, scrambling at the cat; but it’s got two claws embedded deep and is using the other two to rake at Dean’s arms and chest, and Dean is forced to let go to protect his face. 

His dad hits the cat with the same rock, and it drops from Dean’s body with a sickening thud. They stare at each other for a long moment, both panting with exertion, before John extends his hand to help his son off the floor. 

“Nice shot, son,” he says, grim.

“What the hell’s going on, Dad?” Is all Dean can manage in response. 

John’s about to answer when they hear the back door slam against the frame. 

“Shit, Sam,” Dean exclaims, and runs full pelt back towards the house, desperate to make sure Sam doesn’t see the cat lying on the ground. He crashes into Sammy, scooping him up into his arms. Sam flails against him, little arms catching the cuts on Dean’s chest; but Dean perseveres and hauls Sammy into the house. 

***

It takes a good half an hour for John to come back into the house, and Sam spends that time patting at Dean’s scratches, eyes wild. His little hands frame Dean’s face for a long few minutes, multicolored eyes boring into Dean’s with an intensity that makes Dean shake. 

“Are you ok Dean?” Sammy finally whispers. 

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just a couple of cuts. Wanna help me clean them up?”

Sammy brightens at the option to take positive action, and soon soft little fingers are tracing across Dean’s face, arms and chest with enormous care, helping to clean them with some of the whisky Dean found in the cupboard.

“Dad!” Sammy exclaims as the door crashes open again, snow swirling into the house behind their father’s broad shoulders.

“Heya Sammy,” John says, voice weary. “You ok, Dean?”

“I’m perfect, Dad, thanks to Sammy,” Dean replies, voice only wavering slightly. John just nods, and collapses onto the couch.

“What…” Dean’s not quite sure how to ask his questions with Sammy still perched next to him, head cocked with interest.

“In the morning,” John says firmly. “Everything is fine now. If you’re all cleaned up, I want you both in bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean scoops up Sammy, trying to put his curiosity away. Sam is already starting to fall asleep again, head resting on Dean’s shoulder; and it only takes a couple of moments to tuck him in. He pauses, but ultimately, there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep tonight until he knows what happened.

He pads back into the living room, and looks at where his father is already stretched out along the couch. John’s not asleep though, and he tilts his head to look at Dean, before sighing heavily.

“Witch,” he says shortly. “And a matagot. Never seen one before, it’s like a familiar only with its own powers as well - and bigger, obviously. They’ve been conning people all over the state, giving them money and then killing them when the conditions aren’t met.”

Dean shudders. He knew that cat wasn’t normal.

“I’ve been tracking them the last few weeks, but they were clever. Took me a while to find out where they were hiding out. Couldn’t believe it when they led me here.”

“Sam’s been playing with the cat, and feeding it,” he says slowly. “Gave it a name and everything.”

John rears up off the sofa at that. “Jesus christ, Dean! Could you not tell it was a monster?”

“Of course, but he’s been really secretive about it. Turns out he’s really good at being sneaky. I only saw it for the first time yesterday. It loved him, anyway.”

John suddenly looks very weary, wiping his hand across his face. “That boy and animals, shit.”

Dean feels the tension leave his body as realises that his father isn’t going to blame him for this. “I talked to Uncle Bobby about it,” he confesses, “but he didn’t know what it was.”

“I’m not surprised,” John replies. “They’re only native to France and Louisiana, no idea how one got all the way up here.”

There’s silence for a moment as the two Winchester men contemplate what could have happened. Finally John looks up and smiles at Dean.

“You did good tonight, Dean. That was some shot you made. Go on to bed now.” 

***

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sammy is awake when Dean enters the bedroom. Sleepy eyes are peering up at him from where Sam’s propped against the headboard, trying to keep himself awake. 

“I don’t like it when you get hurt, Dean,” he says as soon as Dean enters the room.

“Me neither, squirt,” Dean replies, yawning as he toes his shoes off. 

“I really, really don’t like it,” Sam repeats through his own yawn.

“I’m ok though, Sammy,” Dean reassures. “Look, just a couple of scratches.” Dean pauses, reflecting on the fact that Sammy is so used to their dad traipsing in injured and offering no explanation that he hasn’t even questioned what’s happened.

“I still don’t like it,” Sam insists.

“I get it, Sammy,” Dean says laughing. He pulls back his covers, tugging them into place from where they’d gotten tangled when he was startled awake. 

As soon as he’s in the bed, Sammy hops out of his and hurtles across the room, flinging himself against Dean’s side. He tucks himself into his usual place under Dean’s arm, little fist tangled in Dean’s tshirt.

Dean sighs. Their dad has been very clear about this, but surely this counts as an extenuating circumstance. 

“Just tonight, Sammy,” he says as Sam’s eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Sure, De,” Sammy replies, jaw cracking on a yawn. Dean doesn’t believe him for a minute. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](http://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
